


The Memory of Puppets

by Calesvol



Series: The Way of Yin & Yang [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon - Manga, Conflict, F/M, Open Marriage, Politics, Polyamory, Pre-Konoha Village, Slow Burn, Uzumaki Clan-centric, Warring States Period (Naruto), Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: Often considered a pearl upon the sea, before the formation of the hidden villages were the Uzumaki on their island nation one of the most mysterious yet powerful of the ninja clans. Alongside the Senju, they formed an alliance like sunlight to the east that contrasted to the Uchiha and Hyūga's union to the west. Given an exceedingly rare opportunity to study fūinjutsu among the Uzumaki, the illustrious dramatist, Monzaemon Chikamatsu, finds that he must deal with far more than he bargained for. (Prequel to Warrior, Father, Sage.)
Relationships: Monzaemon Chikamatsu (Naruto)/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito
Series: The Way of Yin & Yang [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751263
Comments: 1





	The Memory of Puppets

Warning(s): T, none

* * *

They’d been young, tender things, once. It had seemed like such a strange discovery when they’d journeyed to the Land of Waves, a colony of the Uzumaki for generations. The lush, tropical island nation with its towns and villages suspended over the smooth waters of the ocean always filled Mito with such wonder. As they’d always been so connected to the ocean, Uzumaki were drawn to islands, to the waves foaming as they beat upon the surf and withdrew in their endless dance of push and pull with the moon.

At night, Mito had escaped from the residence her father and mother had deigned to occupy, a sprawling estate situated over a bluff that took a sheer plunge into the ocean below that churned and smashed awesome waves against its craggy face in times of storm. And in times of peace, upon a groomed trail through the misty jungle would it empty into a cove with peerless ivory sands as smooth as marble. Bracketed by enormous cliff sides did the turquoise ocean seem to quiet on its shoreline, gentle enough to wade and see the sea life that called it their home. 

Upon that starry night had the Uzumaki heiress stolen into the night, through the alabaster streets that networked the village she felt something most unexpected; a blot of chakra not totally unlike her own. With the young abilities a Sensor had, Mito followed the chakra signature that shone like a beacon through the darkness, through the buildings silhouetted by the moon. The pounding of the sea on the surf on the nearby shore and the scintillating path on the ocean by way of moonlight guided her, until the young Uzumaki heiress came upon a forested path nestled on the outskirts of the wealthy village. 

For all the courtliness and ladylike customs she was brought into, Mito Uzumaki was a keen, clever child. The rivers that crossed in babbling canals and streams that were cast upon the village like a net fed into a much larger body the girl ran alongside, strong from the hours of training her lord father, Ashina Uzumaki, often subjected her to. The silvery moon seemed to frost the forest’s canopy, some slipping through the umbrage and guiding her on her way. 

That way she trotted along until the dirt path revealed the slanting eaves of a prettily shingled roof, the moonlight reflecting from the glass panes that protected the ivory-white shōji encompassing much of the cottage’s engawa. Yet, Mito couldn’t help but fixate upon a latticed window at the flank of the cottage, guileless sapphires knowing that someone alive had to lay within. 

And like the intrepid little thing she was, Mito had leaped adroitly to the window’s sill and smartly worked it open without eliciting a single sound, slipping inside with the alacrity of a ghost and landing on the tatami soundlessly. 

“Who are you?” a girlish voice asked her, ruby red eyes blinking owlishly in the darkness. Red hair spilled from a mass of quilts until the head it belonged to perked up, pale and pretty and Mito almost gasped. 

It was like looking into a mirror, if she were a few years older and with an expression mistrustful and lips pulled into a stern frown. “Maybe you’re a doppelganger, you… Who are you?” she asked again, gathered the skirts of her tussled yukata beneath her. “Your yukata is pretty. It’s real silk, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Mito answered in a soft but certain voice. “I’m Mito. Lord Ashina is my papa.” Maybe it wasn’t the wisest thing to say, but her tutors had always said she should introduce herself properly despite their laws. After all, what Uzumaki didn’t recognize their own? All said with a neat, straight bow of a formality beyond her years. 

The other girl scrunched her nose. “Lord Ashina, huh?” she quipped sourly, tossing away her quilt and standing to fold her arms. “So, he’s your dad, too, huh?”

Mito couldn’t help but gape in surprise, a rush of elation and disbelief lighting up her delicate features. “I wondered why your chakra looked so similar to mine. I never knew I had a sister!” she proclaimed joyously, bounding to try and embrace the older girl, only to be halted in her tracks with a firm hand on her shoulder. 

“Shush, please be quiet,” the other Uzumaki requested severely, as if there was nothing youthful left on her pretty face. A face whose eyes reminded her so starkly of their father. “My name is Sāra. If I answer your questions and you promise to leave after, will you stay quiet? If anyone knows you’re here, I’ll get in trouble.”

Mito’s eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. “Trouble? Why would you get in trouble? I came here first.” Docilely did she follow Sāra who guided her to a low table to sit, sinking into the thin cushions on folded legs. 

Sāra folded her arms so tightly her hands were hidden under her armpits, as if she were staving away a winter cold despite the warm, late spring air that rustled through the window’s lattice and elicited a faint creak of its hinges. “You weren’t supposed to know I exist. I’m… our father’s bastard child. You know what this means, don’t you?” 

Mito couldn’t help but frown bemusedly. She didn’t understand; even bastards among the Uzumaki were able to become legitimate heirs, especially since all it took was a gifted enough sensor to confirm legitimacy. So why…?

Seeing the question written on her younger sister’s face, Sāra sighed tensely. “I was the byproduct of an affair, and you’re the daughter of Lord Ashina’s legitimate wife. If word got out that I exist, it would cause problems in the branch family she married in from. I don’t need to lecture you about that, either, do I?” Sāra grit her teeth resentfully, but Mito could tell that it wasn’t trained towards her. 

She knew all too well how visceral politics could be among the main family and its branches, how fierce competition was to have members of the branch family marry into the main. It was an odd thing to do, especially since many main branches married out while their children married among the branch families, but it wasn’t unusual. Mito herself would’ve married one of her other cousins if she hadn’t been betrothed to the young Hashirama Senju of the Land of Fire’s Senju Clan, their distant blood relatives. 

“I don’t like it. It’s like saying you did something wrong, even though you didn’t,” the young Mito groused with a pinched brow, sympathy evident in deep sapphire eyes. 

Sāra only sighed, gazing upon her younger half-sister with a conflict warring in her heart. “I was born. That’s a crime enough,” the older Uzumaki said in a harsh susurrus, head bowed. As realization dawned, she gripped Mito’s shoulder with a genuine fright that made the younger’s hands clammy just by looking at her. “You have to forget this, Mito. You have to forget meeting me, and this place. You have to forget you have a sister!”

Mito felt her heart genuinely break for the older girl. The plea in her voice was heart breaking, the fear as clear as the deep midnight glossed over in moonlight almost as bright as a sun. All her life she’d wanted more friends her age who weren’t doe-eyed ladies-in-waiting who hung on her every word, companions she never felt she could be herself around. They gossiped, they talked. It was evident when Mito would do one thing wrong in their presence, to an audience of their adoring conciliations, only to be sternly chastised for it by one of her tutors the following day. She’s wanted someone like this, a sister. Someone like Sāra she could tell was as tough as stones and ice. 

Someone she could have a secret world with, that only sisters could possess and no one could compare.

Sāra noticed Mito’s wretched expression with a dour frown, a sadness in her own eyes that had been the youngest thing about her Mito had noticed since arriving. 

“Will you… be okay?” Mito asked forlornly, a jolt spooking the older girl, back tensed from the observation. One that was too acute, really. It was as though a jellyfish in the shallows had stung her, even if there was nothing amusing about it.

Sāra nodded with brittle conviction. Mito could tell, too easily. She reminded her of Hashirama whenever Lord Butsuma visited with his sons and the Senju boy assured her he wasn’t about to cry whenever she found him alone, even though Mito could see the patchwork of bruises and scars she caught him hiding, of how the boy avoided his father’s gaze and touch like it were a whip.

This reminded Mito too much of that, and she couldn’t even comfort Sāra after this night, could she?

Gently, Mito loosened Sāra’s folded arms and clasped their hands together, the older Uzumaki flummoxed and speechless from such a tender gesture, ruby eyes glistening with unshed tears. Maybe there wasn’t enough she could do, but she could do this. She could do something for the girl, the beloved sister, she might not ever see again.

“I don’t really know what will happen after this, but… Sāra-onēchan, please be happy. I think I love you, because you’re the sister I’ve always wanted, but never had, so…” Mito trailed off, glancing sidelong before refocusing on the older girl. “If I can’t see you ever again, I want to think we’ll always be in each other's hearts, because you will be in mine.”

Sāra said nothing as the tears fell and her voice choked on a sob, features scrunched and flushing, throwing her arms around her sister’s neck with a broken sound as she clung tight and Mito held her, unable to deny the glassiness in her own gaze. 

_We’ll always be together, Onēchan. Forever and always._

* * *

“Lady Mito, are you sure about this? I don’t know if Lord Ashina would approve…”

Mito turned to the voice of her secretary, a petite civilian woman with blonde tresses kept within an unornamented bun low at her nape and clad in an off-white Iromuji kimono denoted by the standout Uzumaki whorl that sashed the utilitarian obi to her waist. Rima was clanless, as most of the waitstaff were, but she had a clever mind for logic and reason and organized sensibilities that rendered her one of Mito’s most trusted confidants. 

“My Lord Father is actually the one who proposed the idea in the first place. He simply thought the voice of his daughter would allow the letter to travel a little further, if you understand my meaning,” Mito replied with an indulgent smile, pulling herself away from the seat she’d taken in the Whirlpool Palace’s massive glass conservatory, affording stunning views of the ocean lapping upon Uzushio’s shoreline with a turquoise radiance that matched her own gaze in sunlight. 

“Oh, I see,” Rima said as she took to her mistress’ side, ruminating. “I’ve heard of him, this Monzaemon. Only twenty-one years of age and already he’s made a legend for himself in both the shinobi and civilian worlds. The dramatist, and someone who holds his own in the world of shinobi. Bridging the gap between the Kazoku and Shizoku.”

Mito shifted to gaze at her secretary fondly, smile faraway. Given that Rima was roughly the same age, it was no wonder she was so curious. Mito certainly questioned her father’s motives, as those invited to Uzushio no Sato—the largest island of a large chain the Uzumaki bore control over—tended to be those expected to stay there and marry into the clan in order to safeguard their secrets. There had been a pinch to her brow when he suggested it, and her first question had been whether or not he intended to bait the Land of Iron native whose renown had courted the esteem of the powerful Kaze Clan of the Land of Wind. 

His answer had been vague, but the point he made was clear; Mito would remain in Uzushio, away from her husband’s capital of Sennan in the Land of Fire, to play host to this man. Not that she was dismayed by the idea, as this man almost a decade her junior certainly made her curious, but it hadn’t been the foremost thought on her mind.

Her morning had been spent daydreaming nostalgically over her first meeting with her older half-sister, Sāra, sometimes colored sourly by the event that came ten years after it, when she’d been in her early 20’s. 

The War of the Eddies had been the deadliest conflict yet between the Senju and Uchiha who had thought it wise to attack their islands and parcels of mainland they’d been gifted with her marriage to Hashirama at around the same time. Lands the Uchiha could feasibly attack since they had no hope to conscript a navy of their own. It was a war that had lost them Tajima and Butsuma, the former clan leaders, to secure the ascendency of their sons, Madara and Hashirama, respectively. It was a war she had taken part in, until she fell pregnant with Akio and was forced to weather it on Uzushio proper until it halted at a stalemate with the Treaty of Two Waters. 

More than that, she thought bitterly to how her sister had betrayed their secrets and had been the reason the Uchiha had held their own against a combined Senju-Uzumaki contingency, Sāra given asylum among the Uchiha and even started a family with one, all due to her lifelong bitterness towards their father.

Much of which was justified, but Mito had held hope that her sister might someday integrate into their clan, perhaps marry a branch member and put the enmity behind them. Instead, she’d unintentionally bridged the divide between the Uchiha and Uzumaki, all while betraying them by becoming their fūinjutsu expert above that. 

Mito sometimes thought about her half-Uchiha nephews, but such considerations were often lost in the deluge of regret and bitter thoughts her sister made her feel.

“I can see why my father is doing it. In these times of peace, we need to bring more people into our fold. Monzaemon is the key that could bring us the Kaze Clan, and the Kaze Clan are the most powerful clan in the Wind Country,” Mito mused to herself as she soothed her fingers along the thick textile of her _attush_ robe, quite unlike the kimono Rima wore. The large glass beads and cowrie shells of her _tamasai_ necklace clinked together as she shifted restlessly. 

Except, could he even be sure about that? If the rumors were true, the Kaze Clan had formed an incidental closeness with the Uchiha when they had sought asylum in the Land of Rivers with the ruling mercantile Ōda Clan a younger Madara had been fostered in his youth at the same time. Truthfully, Mito had little desire to dredge up the past when it was full of so much heartache. Then and there, she just wanted to wonder what bringing in a complete stranger without some ulterior motive would mean for the Uzumaki, and what her father was scheming. 

“Mito-sama, the letter, ah… should I pass it on to the couriers?” Rima broached through her reverie, especially given how much more engrossed the Uzumaki was with her own thoughts. 

Sighing to herself, Mito nodded. “Yes, Rima-chan. I’m sorry I haven’t quite been here this morning,” she replied apologetically, earning a modest but forgiving smile from the younger woman.

As if there was anything to really forgive.

* * *

“How do you know it’s not a trap?”

Under a makeshift awning of starched trap, firelight flickering through the fibers, the dramatist Monzaemon Chikamatsu regarded his companion plainly. Tousled chestnut locks were bound in a stumpy ponytail, fringe curling over his violet eyes. The warm glow of their campfire highlighted his seraphic features and earthy complexion, mired in much thought. 

Handa Ryūjin, with her ivory-white pallor and chatoyant gold eyes framed by violet markings, squinted at the writing as she rolled to her side, form-fitting qipao dress unscathed by grass prints or caught strands of silky black hair that spilled freely over her shoulders. The snake sage entertained the idea of engaging sage mode to try and detect any harmful nuance, but refrained as she handed off the parchment back to Monzaemon himself. 

“Well, I had entertained the idea, but considering how I’ve never faced an Uzumaki or Senju in my life, perhaps they’ll be more clement.”

Handa only fixed him with an unhappy glare that looked more like pouting. He simply had to resist the urge to laugh. “I suppose it’s well enough that they’re also allowing myself, Shamon, and Chiyo-chan, but how do you know they won’t try and steal our secrets or force us to marry some empty-headed redheads in exchange? I’ve lived in Kiri long enough to know that not even the Uzumaki are as innocent as the Senju, all that sunshine and daisies crap,” the snake sage groused as she sat cross-legged, the slit in her qipao dress exposing her pallid leg in doing so.

Not that Monzaemon would ever regard his closest friend in such a crude fashion. Her heart was already fully occupied as it was, and he understood completely. 

The playwright leaned against the flank of his Vardo wagon he tended to live out of, despite how the pair would sleep in bedrolls due to the humidity and heat of the southern reaches of the Land of Fire. As much as he wished to possess faith in the Uzumaki, even as someone as celebrated as he among the Kazoku and Shizoku knew that shinobi politics were often fiercer than the nobility, and he’d been born into the Samurai-class, medical Sugimori family not to know how contentious things could become in the Iron Daimyō’s court. 

Especially when he’d conceived of the Puppet Technique as a means of defending himself and his own against briganding shinobi who were oftentimes far worse than the ordinary gangs that crawled the countryside. 

“Sensei, Lady Handa, can’t you sleep?”

Monzaemon and Handa both turned to see Shamon on the periphery of their camp, bronzed features stitched with concern. After all, he was a hard sight to miss with the emerald dragon twining his skull, an ornamental tattoo part of the Kaze clan’s aesthetic tradition. He was Reto’s—its chieftain—nephew, after all, that the clan head had entrusted to Monzaemon to learn the Puppet Technique, among other things. He was a brilliant disciple despite being a little older than the playwright, after all.

As the Kaze lowered himself to sit among their circle, Handa flashed a friendly smile towards the Suna-nin. They were all close friends, all of them. 

“Hello, Shamon-kun. Is Chiyo-chan alright? I can tell her a story if she’s still up.” Handa’s visage noticeably softened at the mention of his youngest, only five year old apprentice. Handa had become like a surrogate mother to her and her younger twin brother, Ebizō. Her gaze became like warm honey only for the twins.

Shamon flashed a quick grin once he’d settled, smoothing his kaftan beneath him as the ankle-length garment kept him quite warm through the night’s coolness. Monzaemon wore a similar one of knee-length with trousers, so he knew. The fire popped as sparks drifted into the air harmlessly, the forlorn cries of a loon punctuating the air. A warm, secretive aura reflected on their persons, dancing with the flames’ undulant hues. 

“No, no, she and Ebizō-kun are fast asleep, Lady Handa,” he assured before the silence could settle too long. “You’re still thinking about the Uzumaki’s invitation, aren’t you?”

“Deliberating, yes,” Handa replied with a sigh. “Zae-zae seems to want to go, and I understand the curiosity, but you know how these things end. The second we learn a single hijutsu is the moment they’ll force marriage on us. …Even if I can’t think for the life of me why they’d want Kiri peasant stock in with their blood.”

Monzaemon’s coppery features became troubled at Handa’s self-deprecation. “You’re the esteemed heiress of the Ryūjin Clan, Toyotamahime’s only adopted daughter. You’re far more than that,” the playwright contested gently.

“You wouldn’t understand, Zae-zae. I suppose I’m not looking forward to being gawked at more than I already am. If you understood the Kiri’s caste system, you’d have an idea.”

Better known as Chigiri no Sato—the Village of Bloody Mist—Handa’s hometown was a ruthless battle between its castes that divided rich and poor, clansmen and peasant with little in-between. Handa had the misfortune of being born in the peasant caste, and because of it, life had been a battle for survival until she’d saved a small white snake, made a contract with it, and came into the company of Ryūchō, the Dragons’ Ground that encompassed a religious place in the country’s native culture, a source of worship for generations. 

Yet, even if becoming a snake sage rendered her a proverbial saint in her culture, Handa hadn’t been able to stand it and had left in favor of befriending Monzaemon just a few years ago and joining his circus as a kabuki actress, and had never looked back. Instead of brutal poverty and survivalism, she lived a life of self-made success and wealth. 

“Well, if they try anything, Shamon and I will force them to look away,” Monzaemon said with a puckish curl of his lip that elicited a shy look from the snake sage, even if he could see the gratitude evident in her eyes. “Maybe make them do a jig or two.”

“Yes, I’m sure they could stand to learn a few Suna traditional dances, no?” Shamon laughed aloud, Monzaemon grinning wickedly at the thought. 

“Alright, alright, calm down you two! You’ll wake the children,” Handa simpered as she sprawled on her side again, the picture of relaxed elegance he preferred seeing in her. Not the woman fixated on the harsh past she’d escaped from. Primly did she toss a lock of jet hair over her shoulder, ever the diva when she wanted to be. “That aside, we’ll have to begin planning for what plays we intend to put on, don’t we? That I’ll have a starring role in, naturally, and getting into contact with a theater troupe willing to accompany us…”

As they spoke animatedly of such plans, Monzaemon couldn’t help but feel light-hearted. Though Uzushio would undoubtedly be a great unknown, the future was always softened by a warm present and the banter of close friends. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello there, and welcome to my story! Admittedly, I didn't originally intend on making a prequel to WFS, but I grew so attached to some characters and concepts (namely, the Uzumaki, WSE Water Country, Monzaemon, Handa (Orochimaru's mother, Suna & the Kaze(kage) Clan) that I had to dedicate another story to allow me to flesh these out that otherwise wouldn't fit in WFS alone. 
> 
> That being said, to anyone curious about WFS, fair warning that it's Madasaku (Madara/Sakura) to anyone who doesn't like the ship, however, they won't be made mention of as it doesn't exist until WFS. So, rest assured! Additionally, the tags may change or expand as the story goes on.
> 
> Now, on to the notes: 
> 
> 1) To begin, Sara isn't a canon character. She's an OC I made mainly for the sake of developing Mito's character independent of a love interest like Hashirama, who I feel wouldn't be very suitable. Therefore, Sara's creation and subsequent backstory as mentioned above.  
> 2) The War of Eddies is an integral, background war that took place ~8 years before the start of this fic, which is turn takes place 1-2 years before the events of WFS. As I have a bit down already, more will be elaborated later on (unless you're coming here from WFS, then you probably already know a good deal).  
> 3) The [Kazoku](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kazoku) (the intelligentsia, nobility, governing non-shinobi) and [Shizoku](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shizoku) (shinobi and samurai warrior class) are both terms dating from the Meiji Period that I use to define my customverse's non-ninja vs. ninja elites.  
> 4) [Monzaemon](https://naruto.fandom.com/wiki/Monzaemon_Chikamatsu) is 100% a canon Naruto character for anyone in doubt. Besides that, I have every reason to believe that, because he's listed as loyal to Suna while Shamon knows the Puppet Technique, that he's undoubtedly a WSE character. That, and [this is my concept art](https://chalabrun.tumblr.com/post/639849051843674112/finally-got-some-concept-art-down-that-i-did-of) for him.  
> 5) Chiyo and Ebizou both would have been very young in WSE, mainly because characters like Onoki were teens at the time and as they're only Onoki's juniors by 6 years, this would justify being old enough to be alive. That, and this story as well as WFS take place 1-3 years before all the villages are founded.  
> 6) Handa Koumanda, Orochimaru's mother, is a [quasi-canon](https://www.narutoforums.org/threads/orochimarus-parents-names.189182/post-7313788) character. While nothing but her name is known, seeing as I wanted a snake sage for this series, and because her child is not only already associated with snakes, Ryuuchidou, and senjutsu, but because she's also feasibly alive and an adult, much like the rest of the Sannin's parents. Conversely, I also have the [Third Mizukage](https://naruto.fandom.com/f/p/2292000262979727063/r/2299390299472015082) as Orochimaru's father, even if it does take a bit of mental gymnastics to justify, I think it fits.  
> 7) As for the Founders being older, [this timeline](https://oh-my-hashirama.tumblr.com/post/634869008797188096/naruto-timeline) agrees with my belief that canon would've made children impossible (especially to have children like Tsunade), hence why characters like Madara, Hashirama, and Mito are several years older and have children (i.e. Mito and Hashirama's son, Akio, Tsunade's father). Tobirama and Izuna would be younger and 24-25 while Monzaemon and Handa's age group are in their early 20's.
> 
> Aside from all that, expect a lot of worldbuilding on the Uzumaki, Water Country, and all its intrigue to follow that I hope you all can look forward to! ^^


End file.
